


Theatre of Death

by Alathe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming Untouched, Coming from Gentle Touches, Hand Jobs, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, feel free to make suggestions, hints of Geryenskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25358794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alathe/pseuds/Alathe
Summary: Jaskier is an assassin, retired these 20 some odd years.  By which he means he faked his death.  Now Geralt is a target, and he can either stay hidden, or save his Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 85
Kudos: 187





	1. The Opening Scene

**Author's Note:**

> This story is told from changing points of view, I list the names in underlined bold so you can tell the difference. Tags will update as I go along, since even I don't know all of the things yet. Feel free to suggest tag updates.
> 
> There may not be a lot of sexy times, but I'm not going to shy away from them when they happen, hence the explicit rating.
> 
> I plan to update on weekends.

**JASKIER**

He didn't realize the first three acts were over with until it was nearly too late. But now that he knew, he had to do something, didn't he? Murder in 5 acts, and this was the fourth. As soon as he knew the target, he understood he could not allow the play to be completed. Not when the target was his White Wolf. His curse echoed in his mind as if he'd screamed it louder than human lungs possibly could, yet he made no sound. He kicked up his adrenaline, grabbed the first thing he found on the table before him, reached for the magic, and took the stage.

He appeared on the balcony before Geralt with a quiet pop and whiff of ozone. Exactly where he had intended, good to know that talent hadn't faded. He fought down the wave of nausea as he put his left hand on Geralt's shoulder and pushed toward the floor.

"Down." He growled as he lifted the plate in his right hand. Geralt sank to one knee, and the dart that had been meant for the witcher's neck pinged off the plate Jaskier raised. His instincts kicked back in like he had never neglected them. The plate sailed horizontally through the air, catching the assassin in the throat before he could defend himself. The bard leapt over the crouched witcher and in a few long strides he had his now-victim under his hands, demanding answers. Query could not be denied, and he needed to know for certain who the target was.

"Geralt of Rivia." The answer was strained, and sounded forced out. Which is how Jaskier knew it was the truth. He knew Geralt was behind him, approaching silently, stalking on feet much to quiet for a man that size. His hand twitched, crushing the windpipe and dispatching the would-be assassin. He spoke The Finale to the magics swirling round them, and the body immediately turned to ash and dust. He knew by this time Geralt's blade was nearly kissing his neck.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt.” The bard’s voice was unnaturally calm. “You have questions. The answers cannot be avoided any longer. But based on our years together, I beg a boon. Trust me until we can get out of this situation, and this city. We need to get safely ensconced in the middle of nowhere." He didn't move while he waited for the witcher's answer, holding still in a way a human never could.

Amazingly, no one in the hall below seemed to have noticed his instant departure, but there would likely be guards patrolling up here. Geralt knew it too.

"Fine." And Jaskier felt himself being picked up by the back of his shirt and set back on his feet. There were no further incidents, and no one seemed the wiser. He played another set and had to intentionally bury himself in the performance, something he hadn't had to do for many years. He found himself with mixed emotions as the party ended and everyone was shooed away. The bard and the witcher headed out of town immediately.

Geralt tried to find a camping spot shortly after they had left the city, but Jaskier told him they needed at least 2 more miles, and a very out-of-the-way location. He spent the trip planning what to say to his friend, though the witcher might be done with him once everything was explained. Would the White Wolf chase him away? Remove his head? This was certainly going to change the nature of their relationship. Quite likely with his own Finale. When they finally stopped, Geralt turned to Jaskier pointedly.

"Can we set up camp? You have a minimum of ..." He glanced at the night sky. "A day and a half before a report is expected. No one will know of the failure until then, so no one else will be dispatched, and you are safe. I'd like to sit while I explain, and then you can make your decisions."

Geralt nodded and tossed Jaskier his bedroll. Soon they had camp set up, and if it weren't for the weight of the unasked questions, it would have felt like any other late summer night preparing for rest. Jaskier sat on his bedroll, looking at Geralt where he sat on the other side of the small fire, steel sword in his lap.

"Who are you,  _ really _ ?" Asked the witcher. Well, that was as good a place as any to start.

"They called me Silence, because that's how I brought the end to most of my ...  _ victims _ . I was an assassin, but I chose to leave. There are some things you cannot just walk away from, you must die to escape them. So I did. I plotted carefully for years, and then I enacted the plan. It was flawless, and the Theatre believed it. When I met you in Posada, I was just beginning my new life. I'd only been traveling as a bard for a short time when I found you."

"You're not human." It was a statement, but Jaskier could feel the questions behind it. He felt a wry grin twist his lips.

"No more than you are. We are different, but there are similarities. We were both created; trained, mutated to be what we are. Intentionally. Good little soldiers. But I broke my code, and if they discover that, it means my end. But it seems they've put a contract out on you, my dear witcher. I suppose it's possible that he was a rogue, acting on his own. Though he named you, and in my experience rogues don't take contracts; they just go random, or disappear like me."

"How many others have disappeared?"

"Only one that I know of. His end was  _ not _ silent. I remember the screams and cries."  _ For days, those sounds lasted for days while he died.  _ There was silence for a moment, the bard-assassin lost in memories, his face schooled to show nothing.

"Did you enjoy it?" Asked Geralt, and Jaskier found himself a tad confused. They had discussed far too much for him to even guess what the witcher was referring to.

"It?"

"The screams and cries?"

"I've never enjoyed the sounds of one who is blatantly tortured, Geralt. If I desire such noises, I prefer to draw them out with pleasure."

The witcher stood, his chiseled jaw and sunshine eyes framed with the liquid moonlight of his hair. This was it, then. Well, at least if he had to die, it would be at the hands of his snowy-haired god. Jaskier tipped his head back, baring his throat, preparing for the blade.

"I would ask that you take our friendship into account, and kill me quickly." He debated momentarily if he should close his eyes. He remembered the cries from drills "We die with our eyes open!" It had always seemed a good policy to him, and it was as much a part of his being as his ability to hit a target. But should Geralt wish it, he would close them.

"No." The witcher crouched in front of him and Jaskier's eyes widened slightly as Geralt lay his sword on the ground. It was just barely out of the witcher's hands, as he squatted in front of the blue-eyed assassin, unarmed.

"Show me."

"Show you?"

"Draw those sounds out with pleasure. You said that is your preference, so show me. Show me everything."

Jaskier's adrenaline spiked. He felt the thoughts snap through his head faster than a normal man would be able to process. Was Geralt really asking him for sex and pleasure right now? Immediately after his confession of having been an assassin, this was the witcher's response? He wouldn't have to hide who was with Geralt. His speed, his strength he could use his full being to wring cries of pleasure from this beautiful man. Was this a trap? Get him naked and vulnerable before slashing his throat? No, that was a tactic his fellow assassins would use. His witcher was much more straightforward. If he wanted Jaskier dead, he doubtless would be bled out already. Decision time, Jask. He let the waves of desire wash over him and out from him as he reached for Geralt.


	2. Enter the Protagonist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's take on learning new things about his bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexy part is described in this chapter as well.

**GERALT**

Geralt watched the crowd below from his place on the balcony. Balls, Royal banquets, Noble's feasts, they were all essentially the same. Boring, annoying, someplace he didn't want to be. Too many humans he needed to watch himself around. But Jaskier belonged in these settings. Playing, singing, lapping up the attention. Just another thing that reminded Geralt of the distance he needed to keep. Yes, the bard had been following him for a long time now, but they really didn't belong in the same world. Jaskier was gentle, soft and noisy. Which he loved about the man, but Geralt was a warrior; designed, created for difficult things no human wanted to face. Nor should they have to, that's why there were witchers. Despite their friendship, events like this showed Geralt why they couldn't be more than just friends.

His head snapped up, something was wrong, the sensation suddenly ticked at the back of his mind like a sputtering flame. He looked around, trying to pinpoint whatever it was. His medallion suddenly twitched, and with a small popping sound, Jaskier appeared before him. Before the witcher could say anything, or even really react, the bard's hand was on his shoulder pushing him toward the floor as he growled at Geralt to get down. He allowed the force of that hand and his own instincts to guide him to one knee as he heard a metallic ping and Jaskier threw the plate in his hand over Geralt's head. What? The questions just kept manifesting in the witcher's brain, then Jaskier was gone. How had he not realized there was more to the bard? He had magic? Geralt's instincts took over and he advanced, sword first upon that mop of chestnut hair, and the prone form lying before him. He heard his name from the stranger's lips before Jaskier's hand twitched and the other's breath ceased. Strange words fell from his bard's lips and the stranger’s body disappeared into a pile of dust.

Geralt's mind roiled. Did his bard just save his life, with  _ a dinner plate _ ? Where did Jaskier get magic? Why did it make his whole body  _ ache  _ to put his sword to that familiar neck? Why were his pants so tight? What happened to the body? There was no doubt Jaskier had killed the other man. Wait, was he  _ turned on _ by this? What was wrong with him? How did Jaskier know he was in danger?  _ A dinner plate!? Really?! _ He spoke the bard's name, but he had no idea what he would ask. Just as well, then, that man before him calmly informed the witcher that he would indeed answer his questions, but they had to leave as soon as they could excuse themselves. Fine. He was annoyed they had to stay so long after, but it seems because they were both men of note they couldn't just disappear. Geralt would have anyway, if he'd been alone.

When they finally found a place outside of the city that Jaskier deemed safe enough, he requested a camp. Taking care of that gave Geralt something else to focus on, and then it was time for Jaskier to tell his story. His explanation made a lot of sense, but it still left a ton of questions.

Jaskier told of "screams and cries" of another who had attempted and failed to do what the bard seemed to have managed. He had to have been there, to know those sounds. Did he enjoy hearing that? Geralt didn't think he could bear the idea of his beautiful bard delighting the sounds of someone being tortured. He had to ask, he needed to know how cruel Jaskier was, how deserving of death. He was certain he could take out this assassin (though part of his mind, and most of his heart screamed in agony at the possibility), and he would if he must.

"I've never enjoyed the sounds of one who is blatantly tortured, Geralt. If I desire such noises, I prefer to draw them out with pleasure."

The white-haired witcher could  _ feel _ his brain get stuck. Yes, please. That's what he wanted. That's all he'd wanted from this sky-eyed bard for a very long time now. He shouldn't. This new knowledge didn't change that, but after that display on the balcony, he couldn't help himself. This ridiculously beautiful man was  _ dangerous. _ And kind, and protective. Sang like a bird, and was intimately familiar with death. He approached Jaskier and knelt in front of him.

"Show me."  _ Please show me. I want to make those sounds for you. Need you to hear me. Need  _ you _. Show me. Please, love me. _

He felt long fingers curl around the left side of his neck, and let himself lean into it. 

"I need to hear you, Geralt. It's important that you let me hear you."

When Jaskier laid his thumb on the front of Geralt's throat, just below his Adam's apple, he briefly remembered he had just bared his throat to a trained assassin. But then there were soft, warm lips on his, and the hand was gently stroking his neck. He didn't know when he had closed his eyes. Or let the bard claim his tongue from his mouth as Jaskier devoured him, lips first. How could this simple, commanding kiss make his cock  _ so hard _ ? He didn't realize he was moaning until he heard Jaskier's praises.

"Yes, Geralt, just like that. You make the most beautiful noises."

He didn't remember anyone undoing his breeches, but dexterous fingers danced along the length of his prick. The touches were gentle along his shaft and his throat. The kisses were firm and demanding, claiming his tongue. It had been so long. The praises flowed between and through the kisses. He didn't just hear the sounds of pleasure, he felt them. In his chest, in his throat, in his head. It struck him with a small sense of surprise that they were his own noises.  _ I'm making those noises. Jaskier is creating those sounds from an instrument made of my bones and my soul. A private song for my bard. _

He was close, he could feel it. As he chased those soft lips, a strong thumb pressed against his windpipe when he moved forward, and it tipped him over the edge. The orgasm felt like an explosion at the base of his cock, in the front of his mind, behind his eyes. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry fell from his lips as his seed fell from his body.

"That's it, darling." Jaskier sighed as he shuddered a bit.

When Geralt's brain started to function again, he realized that his was not the only spend he could smell, and looked down to see a wet spot on the front of the bard's breeches.

"Jaskier, did you ... "

"I told you the sounds were important."  _ Had Jaskier really just ... _

"From the sounds that I made?"

"Mmhmm."

He drew Jaskier into his arms and settled them on the bedroll. As he curled up with his bard-turned-assassin, breathing in the heady scent of Jaskier, falling rapidly into the realm of sleep, the ridiculousness of the earlier evening struck him again.

"A dinner plate." He chuckled manically, before he let the darkness take him to dreams.


	3. Apologies

I was nearly done with Chapter 3 Thursday evening when I discovered that one of the women I've been calling mom for 20-some-odd years shuffled off this mortal coil. If I'm able to concentrate enough to get this chapter done, I'll get it posted within the next few days. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to delay until next weekend. Take care of yourselves, and never forget to say "I love you" when it's true. <3


	4. Setting the Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get the story of how Jaskier became what he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some mention of horrible things happening to children. I've tried to keep it rather brief.

**JASKIER**

Yesterday had been insane. Save your best friend from a deadly ex-brother-in-arms, prepare to die, instead have mind-blowing sex with said best friend. He wasn't expecting his orgasm to come as it did, spurred only by Geralt's reactions, but had been waiting for permission to touch the witcher for years. He had imagined the sounds the big man would make for well over a decade. The reality had been so much better. Now here he was, waking up, cuddled in close to Geralt, senses filled with the witcher. He shifted slightly tucking his head against Geralt's neck and taking a slow, deep breath.

"Death and destiny or heroics and heartbreak?" He felt the hushed question rumble through the chest beneath his arm.

"Just Geralt." Jaskier chuckled. Of course Geralt would know what he was doing. Many of their mutations were similar.

"And what do I smell like?"

"You mean underneath your environment?"

"Environment? Wood smoke and leather?"

"And sweat, and Roach." Another chuckle. "But under all that, you just smell like Geralt. Kind of like pine and iron and ... freedom. Must be the smell of destiny."

Geralt smacked him playfully.

"We both also smell like old sex. And we need to talk more. Shall we clean up and have breakfast while we do?" Jaskier knew Geralt could smell his nervousness, but he was also sure the witcher knew he was right.

Geralt nodded and dug for some travel rations, jerky and trail bread, as the bard poured water in a tin cup and warmed it with Stage Lights so they could clean up. 

"Is that Igni?"

"We call it Stage Lights. I don't know if it's exactly the same as Igni, but it's close enough." He dampened a rag with the water and traded it to Geralt for some dried meat.

"So is your magic just signs, like mine?"

"I think so. Though Taking the Stage is pretty advanced, not everyone can do it. That's how I appeared on the balcony where you were yesterday. It's very draining, and you have to be able to see your destination. And the Finale must be spoken."

"Finale? Is that how you made the body turn to ash?"

"Yes. I've heard that it could be used to kill, but that's difficult and seems complex. It's much more effective to end a life any number of other ways, and just use the Finale to clean up."

They were quiet for a moment as they cleaned themselves, as well as they could with just wet rags, removing much of the road dust, and the remains of last night.

"This thing between us last night," Jaskier locked eyes with Geralt, "was that a one-time thing?" His face betrayed no emotion, and he would accept it if that was all Geralt wanted, but oh, he wanted so much more. He wanted them to spend hours taking each other apart. He desired something that would last.  _ Please, please be mine. _

"Do you want it to be?" Was he just imagining that Geralt sounded a bit timid? No, the witcher's heartbeat was racing. Well racing for a witcher, so still slow for a human. Breathing accelerated, eyes slightly dilated, with that odd twitch in the iris that happened when Geralt tried to block their automatic responses. He wondered if all witchers did that. He was pretty sure they could all control their pupils consciously. He had the same ability. But did they all do  _ that _ \- that fluctuation - when their conscious and unconscious responses fought? Surely his eyes didn't do that. How could he check? Dammit, he was letting his brain run away again. Good thing it happened so rapidly. If he didn't give a response soon, Geralt would get suspicious, or maybe worried.

"No." Geralt nodded at him, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"We can discuss our relationship in a bit. I need information, Jaskier. There are still too many questions. So many, in fact, that I'm not sure where to start."

"Then let me. I was part of ... an organization, known as the Theatre of Death. This Theatre is not something you can choose to join, they find you when you're a child, with a world of potential at your fingertips, ready to be molded.

As a child I was taken in by the organizer of a gang of ruffian children. Fang saw me stealing food and decided to offer me a place in his family. There were two other adults, Fang and Blades were kind. Blades taught us to use daggers and to cut purses. Fang watched out for us and taught us to move silently, or blend with the crowds, whichever would make us less noticeable. Boots was cruel, he'd beat us if we got caught, or if he had enough ale in him, or if he was angry. He taught us thrown weapons, and my skill meant I got less beatings from him than the others did. It didn't matter what he wanted us to throw, I excelled.

I was trained to take out a target if they looked like they might catch me stealing, and to do it quietly. At some point someone decided to move me up into the Theatre. I have no idea who recommended me, or why they chose me. I thought being forced to leave Fang and Blades behind was the most pain I would know, foolish child that I was. Then the real training began, but it was all cakes and ale compared to the Auditions."

His mask of calm broke for a moment, as the memories of that agony took over. He knew pain and fear tinged his scent, and Geralt would be able to smell it, but he couldn't stop. Reliving his childhood up to being re-made had opened his emotions too far for him to deal with the memory of that agony. Watching other children scream or vomit themselves to death. Nausea gripped him now, and he fought to keep the jerky down. Geralt's voice was small and quiet as he asked:

"The Auditions?"

"It's when we truly become who we are. Our bodies are violently reshaped with magic and mayhem. It's when we lose our humanity."

"You wake up covered in your own shit and piss, vomiting. You know it's your body, it has to be, but it feels different; nothing will ever be the same as it was before."

"Yeah. Like that."

Again they were silent as they each mourned the traumatic death of their childhood. Soon Jaskier continued his tale.

"For forty years I did as I was told. For 20 or 30 I fought my training. Then I saw what happened to the traitor. For another twenty I planned, until I was ready. Then Silence died, and Jaskier the Bard was born."

"How long will you live?"

"Until we die with our eyes open."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that while I am American, Theatre is spelled this way intentionally. As part of a community theatre group, theatre in my mind is stage plays/live shows while theater is movie theater/cinema.


	5. Finding Your Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they begin figuring out what's next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized that Geralt's chapters are primarily his reactions, but there is a bit of forward momentum here.
> 
> For those of you who are not theatre nerds, "finding your mark" is knowing where to stand or move to on stage.

**Geralt**

He woke to Jaskier scenting him. No doubt, that's what he was doing. So a heightened sense of smell was probably something they had in common. He remembered their first meeting, and couldn't resist asking:

"Death and destiny or heroics and heartbreak?" 

It was a pleasant, gentle way to wake up, chatting with Jaskier as they crawled from the arms of sleep. One of his favorite things about traveling together. Though he had definitely found another benefit last night.

Bitter lemon infused Jaskier's scent as he brought up that they needed to talk more. He was right, they had much to discuss. Geralt wasn't certain why it made his  bard assassin Jaskier so nervous, though.

When he went to hand over some breakfast, Jaskier was warming water in a cup; which led to a discussion about their magic. Seemed that was pretty similar too, though with different names and different abilities.

Then he found out what was making the blue-eyed assassin so nervous.

"This thing between us last night," Jaskier locked eyes with Geralt, "was that a one-time thing?" 

_ Gods, I hope not! I want more, I want to make you feel good too. I want ... _ While Jaskier's face betrayed nothing, the bitter lemon scent increased. Suddenly Geralt understood, Jaskier wanted this, but he was giving Geralt a way out.  _ But you have no idea how long I've wanted to see that look on your face. To watch the gentle smiles after a good orgasm. To smell you with the mingled pleasure and lust that comes right after. _ He wondered if Jaskier could smell his own nervousness as he replied.

"Do you want it to be?" It seemed to take Jaskier forever to respond. Geralt's logical mind knew it was just a second or two, but he wasn't sure he was breathing until the bard answered. 

"No."

He nodded, accepting that answer. Good. There was so much to talk about there. What did this mean for them? Lovers, Geralt never thought he'd have a real lover. (Well, there was the Yennefer thing. There was something important, special, between him and Yen, but he still hadn't figured out just what it was.) Jaskier would be around longer than a normal human. He should be bothered by the fact that his lover was an assassin, but he was too, wasn't he? Designed to kill monsters, sure, but he had ended plenty of human lives as well. They weren't so different, were they?

Jaskier tells him about growing up, learning to fight, to hide, to kill. Becoming a part of this Theatre of Death. Maybe that's why he's so melodramatic, it’s a theatre thing. It all sounds pretty familiar, actually. Except less moral; less helping, more killing. But when Jaskier explains the Auditions, suddenly Geralt understands that he's talking about the Trials. Changing, being reshaped, losing your humanity. Geralt understands, because he'll never forget the Trials. He feels the nausea rise in his own throat as he speaks.

"You wake up covered in your own shit and piss, vomiting. You know it's your body, it has to be, but it feels different; nothing will ever be the same as it was before." He suppressed a shudder.

Then Jaskier talks about leaving the group of assassins, becoming a bard instead, and Geralt's mind is full of questions.

"How long will you live?"

"Until we die with our eyes open." Well, that's cryptic. Thanks, Jaskier. Though he supposed he couldn't give a much better answer, no one has discovered for certain how long a Witcher can live; they don't die of old age; they get killed on the Path, or in the sackings, instead.

Questions and answers, he doesn't remember who asks, and who offers. He files all the information away in his brain.

Jaskier had started following Geralt because he had "kind eyes".  _ No one _ looked in a Witcher's eyes, they were too afraid of the monster hidden there. But this bold bard had  _ locked eyes _ with him when they first met. Now he supposed Jaskier was less afraid because of his mutations. Until Jaskier told him that the two most common reasons for an assassin to die were being removed from the stage (taken out by their own brotherhood) or at the point of a Witcher's sword. So he and his brethren were famous and feared even among that group. Maybe he had been right all those years ago about the man being a fool.

He also admitted to using Geralt to get out of Posada. It's easier to hide if you don't stay put. But he  _ continued to follow _ the witcher because he was fascinated by Geralt. Geralt had never thought himself fascinating. Before Jaskier glued himself to his side, it was just him and Roach most of the time. Only his family in Kaer Morhen gave a shit. Even then, they really only shared stories of the Path for a few days after arriving. His life was difficult, dangerous, and repetitive. Deal with angry humans, get a contract, deal with the monster, back to the humans. Unless you had a bad day, then you had to recover from injuries while dealing with irate people. This reflection reminded him of the bright spot in his life. His blue-eyed ray of sunshine, keeping his heart warm despite the storms.  _ Wait, focus on the present, Geralt,  _ he chastised himself.

"So why was that man trying to kill me?"

Jaskier explained "Murder in 5 Acts":

1) Opening: to be given your target's identity

2) Background: Learn as much as possible about your target

3) Story: Final determination of how/when to best strike. Generally involves stalking/trailing your target.

4) Death: The act itself

5) Finale: Clean up the mess/leave appropriate proof/etc

This seemed to be the standard way of carrying out a contract for these people. He filed this information away as well. But Jaskier didn't know who had put out the contract, why someone would want Geralt dead. Not that he couldn't think of plenty of reasons, from piss-poor to good ones, ridiculous to valid. Had he killed someone's pet monster, or perhaps their child or lover? Was it just because he was a freak, a mutant? He wasn't sure how anyone would justify using freak assassins to kill a freak monster hunter, but humans didn't have to make sense, did they? Perhaps it was an angry mage?

"That moment on the balcony, Geralt. That was meant to be Act 4: The Death. I should have caught this during Act 3. I've been out of the Theatre too long, I have become complacent. I  _ want _ to avoid them, but I have too many things I  _ need _ to know."

Wait, was Jaskier talking about going back to them? Even if it was just to get answers, not go back to being an assassin, Geralt was left in shock. Jaskier  _ knew _ what would happen to him. They had talked about why you couldn't just walk away. They'd kill him, torture him. The thoughts were too heavy, he couldn't bear this.

He didn't realize he had fallen to his knees until Jaskier wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together.

"Trust that I am very aware of what will happen if I get caught, Geralt. But I know how they function. I am, to the best of my knowledge, the only one outside that group who might stand a chance at this. I know that I cannot destroy the Theatre, but I cannot allow your name to stay on their list."

He concentrated on staying calm. If he didn't he'd crush Jaskier to his chest, and never let him go. They had only just discovered each other, he couldn't lose his sunshine now. He was certain this was harder than the first time he'd taken to the Path, leaving his family behind. He couldn't remember now how he'd dealt with parting from Eskel, he'd need to remember how he'd done that.  _ He couldn't just not have Jaskier at his side. _ How did he do that? He felt like his chest was cracking open, spilling his lungs to the forest floor.

Then the hand on his neck tightened, grounding him in reality. He could feel his lover's forehead pressed to his, feel their shared breath; and as though his sunshine had breathed directly into his lungs, they suddenly moved as they should inside his chest.

"We have to plan." Said Jaskier quietly, and Geralt nodded.


	6. Receiving Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, and a few plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were supposed to be moving forward today, but I guess the boys needed comfort sex. Is smut moving forward?

"That moment on the balcony, Geralt. That was meant to be Act 4: The Death. I should have caught this during Act 3. I've been out of the Theatre too long, I have become complacent. I  _ want  _ to avoid them, but I have too many things I  _ need  _ to know."

"Jaskier ..." Geralt was growing pale, and the assassin knew what the Witcher was thinking. He fell to his knees before the bard (good thing he heals quickly, he'd seriously damage himself if he kept this up otherwise.)

"Trust that I am very aware of what will happen if I get caught, Geralt. But I know how they function. I am, to the best of my knowledge, the only one outside that group who might stand a chance at this. I know that I cannot destroy the Theatre, but I cannot allow your name to stay on their list."

He took a knee next to Geralt pulling him in close, trying to reassure him, but he couldn't back down.

"We have to plan." Said Jaskier quietly, and Geralt nodded. The movement brought their lower faces closer together, and unexpectedly, Geralt was brushing soft kisses to Jaskier's lips, chin, cheek.

Geralt's name fell from his lips with a sigh as the witcher tugged Jaskier's chemise from his breeches, eager to touch warm flesh. The assassin's fingers gripped those long, silky locks as plump lips covered his exposed collarbone in small, chaste kisses. He didn't understand how these gentle touches left him so breathless. He pulled Geralt's head away, so he could remove his doublet and chemise; and was surprised when the witcher made one of those wonderful moans he had exhibited the night before. Was that because of the hair pulling?

"Strip." Said Jaskier, standing to do the same. Geralt was naked before he was, wearing nothing but his medallion as he knelt in the same position. Jaskier intentionally slowed himself, watching the hungry look on the witcher's face while he slowly revealed his lean, toned body. The way Geralt's eyes lingered just a little too long on certain spots, the long line of his neck, his pink nipples, the trail of hair leading from his navel, finally resting on his cock with enough attention to make it jump on its own. Nothing moved but his amber eyes. Jaskier stepped forward and put his hand on the crown of the wolf's head, then tipped it back to meet his eyes. He watched with fascination as Geralt's pupils widened. The small smirk that crossed his face caused those golden irises to shrink further. He brought his other hand up to Geralt's face, caressing his cheek before resting his fingers on that strong jaw.

"What do you want, Geralt?"

"You. I want you."

"You have me, beautiful one. You've always had me."

The sound that escaped the witcher sounded suspiciously like a sob, but then Jaskier's cock was engulfed in the heat of that mouth. With each slide of those plush lips, the bard could hear and  _ feel _ Geralt taking deep breaths of his scent. This was nothing so crass as a blowjob, no, his witcher was devouring him; inhaling him like a starving man at a feast. He could feel it building in his gut, the hot pressure of his oncoming orgasm, as he began to stutter Geralt's name. The witcher took a deep breath and buried his nose in the fragrant pubic hair, feeling the stretch in his throat as Jaskier's cock filled it while he tried to swallow. The assassin couldn't help himself as he cried out; fisting his hands in Geralt's hair, hips twitching, hands tugging, as his body emptied it's seed into that willing throat. Deprived of air, senses filled with his sunshine, hair being pulled; and the barest touch to his own cock had Geralt spilling too.

Jaskier sank to the ground, bearing Geralt with him and curled himself around the witcher, who began to squirm. The assassin wrapped his long limbs around Geralt, holding him still, holding him down, and the White Wolf calmed.

"Aren't we done?" 

"I would like to make love to you, Geralt. I want to feel you around me. Have you been with a man before?"

"I'm no stranger to most kinds of sex, Jaskier." Geralt snorted. "I've done thin ... oooooh" 

Jaskier had moved quickly, at least as fast as a Witcher; and while Geralt was speaking, the assassin had lifted the witcher's leg and was stroking a slick finger from his balls to his tailbone, not lingering over his hole, just teasing. It only took a few strokes before the witcher was trying to impale himself on that teasing digit, making the sweetest little panting noises.

"Don't tease." It was meant to be a growl, but came out as a whine. The finger slid inside easily and Geralt moaned.

"All you need do, dear Witcher, is ask." Jaskier kept his finger moving in and out as he spoke. "How could I ever deny you any pleasure?" A second finger was added and more beautiful noises spilled from Geralt.

"More, Jaskier, please ..." A third finger slid in, and Geralt groaned. He had nearly forgotten how much he loved the pain that could come mixed with pleasure. This was an experience he could not get at the bawdy houses, they expected something different of him. 

"More. Make it ... please, fuck me, Jaskier, please." Jaskier wasn't sure exactly what he had expected, but reducing Geralt to sobbing pleas with just a few fingers was not on the list, he was certain. They would have to explore this. But right now, the bard's cock begged as strongly as the witcher under him.

"Anything for you, my moonlit demigod." He breathed as he slid slowly into that hot, demanding body. Curled on their sides, slotted together as though they had been designed that way, they shuddered together as hips met ass. The moan from Geralt drove Jaskier to action and he began to piston away, sinking his teeth gently into a heavily muscled shoulder. Geralt moaned at the bite, and pushed his shoulder into Jaskier's face. Movements swift and sure, Jaskier took the Witcher's cock in his hand, sped up his thrusts, and bit hard into the meat of that shoulder. A long, keening cry spilled from his witcher as he seemed to lose all control of himself, bucking and convulsing while the orgasm ripped through him, his walls clenching and releasing spasmodically around Jaskier's cock so that he too, spilled, a heavy groan muffled by his mouthful of muscle.

Jaskier wrapped his witcher up tight in his arms, one leg slung over him, comforting him, until they both began to grow hungry.

"You get a fire going, I'll go hunt some food." Geralt said. They both put some clothes on and went about their respective tasks.

Building and starting the fire was a simple task that required very little thought, so Jaskier used the time to plan. There was no way to make this a simple plan, and no time to properly plan. That meant he'd have to do a lot of the planning on the move. 

Geralt brought back a couple of rabbits, and they prepared and cooked them mostly in silence, though the silence was filled with their glances, smiles, shoulder nudges, and occasional kisses.

They talked while they ate dinner, Jaskier working on parts of his plan verbally, so he could get feedback from Geralt.

"I know how dangerous it is; I grew up with these butchers, Geralt. People whose purpose was to destroy their victims. Some took great pride in horrific mutilation."

"Is that why you took such issue with my moniker?"

"It should have been blatantly obvious to anyone with  _ eyes _ that you were no butcher." Jaskier growled. "I need to do this. Let me protect you. If they are serious about taking you out, they'll send more assassins. More than one at a time if they must, you need to understand that the Theatre will not stop. The show must go on. If there is any way I can prevent your death, I have no choice. I  _ cannot _ just let you die."

"How will you get in?"

"I have some ideas, but we're going to have to have a convincing split. A really good reason to part ways, or they'll never believe I just took off and disappeared. And I  _ will _ have to disappear from you in order to do what I need to do."

They did not make love again that day, just cuddled close together until they fell asleep. They'd head down the road in the morning.


	7. Exit, Stage Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt move on to the next location. And discuss strange weapons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a quasi-foot sex scene. If that's going to trip you out, please skip over the part where they leave the road, and move on to the next ~~~.
> 
> As always, please let me know if you think there's anything I should tag, or any typos or such.

The next day saw them on the road, headed North. The journey would take several days, but they were in no hurry, enjoying each other's company even more now than they had before. It seemed this change in their relationship was a good thing. A very  _ very _ good thing, if you had asked either of them. Neither was sure they were willing to admit it out loud though, not even to each other.

~~~

"A dinner plate."

"Are you still stuck on that, Geralt? It's not the strangest weapon I've used, you know."

"Oh?"

"Well, if we're going to go there, you start. What's the strangest thing you've ever used as a weapon?"

There was silence as they traveled for a bit, Geralt trying to think of a good answer for his bard. Swords and daggers didn't count, they were conventional weapons.

"Eskel."

"What? What's an Eskel?"

"My brother. Wolf Witcher like me."

"Isn't that just working with someone? I'm not sure it counts, unless you threw him like a projectile or something."

A pause.

"Table knife."

"Honestly, Geralt, I don't think you're even trying now."

"Hmmm."

The silence stretches for a while longer before the witcher declares "I killed a kikimore with it's own claw."

"Now that's worth talking about! Good material for a ballad, too, I think."

"I thought we were discussing our strangest weapons, not composing songs about your favorite witcher."

"I'm a bard  _ and _ an assassin, Geralt. I can do both."

"Hmm."

"And you are, you know. My favorite Witcher. Don't forget it."

Geralt once again finds himself glad he can't blush.

~~~

These conversations continued on and off as they traveled or camped.

~~~

"A wine goblet."

"What did you do, Jaskier, bash him in the head?"

"Nothing so crass. Why would you even think that? Do you have such a low opinion of me?"

"Okay then, how did you make a goblet deadly?"

"Have you ever broken the bowl off of one? It leaves a nice long shard with a good stable handle. Easy to drive into a neck."

For a moment, Geralt was almost able to envision it. Some no-doubt tawdry duke with the base of a goblet protruding from under the point of his jaw. He smiled

"Sticking with the dinnerware theme?"

"Improper place settings are deadly, Geralt." There was silence for a few seconds before they both broke into laughter.

~~~

Each night when they camped, they filled the woods with moans and cries of pleasure. Geralt claimed the Bard, the Assassin claimed the Witcher, the mutants claimed each other.

~~~

"I used the leg of my breeches to strangle a guard so he didn't give my position away." Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I'd normally use a garrote, but I didn't have my kit at the time. Very undercover as a bard, you know."

"I'm not going to ask why you weren't wearing your pants."

"I could show you." Jaskier said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Geralt dropped Roach's reins and crowded into the bard's space.

"Oh?"

The assassin let a feral little grin cross his face as he pulled the witcher further into the trees, so they wouldn't be seen from the road. He put his back to a tree and unlaced his breeches.

"Help me get them off, Geralt. Boots too."

The white-haired man sank to his knees to strip Jaskier from the waist down and when he looked back up he had only a moment to see that smile before a heel was hooked behind his head, pulling him face-first into he bard's crotch. Not one to waste such a delicious opportunity, Geralt sucked the already hard cock into his mouth. In a matter of moments, he felt bumping and grinding against his own cock. He wasn't going to last long like this. 

"Keep your hands right where they are." Jaskier hissed. Geralt obediently gripped his own thighs to keep his hands still. 

The foot (for that's what it had to be) fumbled at his trousers, and then there was warm skin against his, rubbing his cock even as he sucked Jaskier's down his throat. The assassin's body tensed, and he held Geralt's head in place, cock lodged in the Witcher's throat, rubbing a pattern of undeniable pleasure against Geralt's shaft, as he spilled down that amazingly tight throat. It was too much for Geralt, and he released a load himself.

When Jaskier let him go, Geralt collapsed briefly, catching his breath and trying to find his brain. When he looked up, he saw that Jaskier was gripping the tree above his head. He smiled again as he lifted both feet off the ground, and pointed at Geralt with one of them.

"A mostly useless talent?"

"Not at all." Rasped Geralt. "But we should be on our way."

~~~

Hmmm. Blew a drowner's head off with Aard." Now it was Jaskier's turn to cock an eyebrow.

"He tried to headbutt me.” Geralt shrugged. “His head was almost in my hand when I let go. That made a hell of a mess."

"Did you know that if you force someone to swallow the correct size bead, they'll choke to death, but it won't be found without a very thorough examination of the body?" Maybe he should stop, Geralt actually seemed slightly disturbed by that one.

**Jaskier**

Their last night together was in the forest before they made it into Caingorn. They made love and finally declared their feelings for each other. Yes, both of them.

They got a single room together at the Pensive Dragon as was their wont; but Geralt stayed up later than him, and spent the night with Borch, Tea, and Vea. Perhaps that should have been his clue that this was the time. But he didn't see it. The first night as they climbed the mountain, Geralt meditated instead of sleeping. He thought maybe the witcher just didn't want to deal with the reactions of the others if he curled up with his bard. Geralt spent the last night with Yennefer in her tent. It was somehow more painful than the previous two nights.

When he awoke the next morning, the fuzzy feeling in his head indicated that the witch had likely cast a sleeping spell on him. By the time he arrived at the top of the mountain, the fight was well and truly over.

He could see Geralt and Yennefer fighting, and heard Borch's words to them. He knew how important Yen was to Geralt. The two of them had talked about it, and even Jaskier had admitted she wasn't so bad. He had his own reasons for that, but this blow must cut the Witcher like a dull sword. All Jaskier wanted right now was to comfort his snowy-haired beloved.

"Phew, what a day. I imagine you're probably ..."

"Dammit, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it!?"

What? Wait, no. That's not fair! Where is this rant even coming from, Geralt? Were any of these words coming out of his mouth? This was going so far off-plan he didn’t know how to react.

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take  _ you _ off my hands!

He allowed all his hurt to show on his face. He couldn't check with Geralt, so he hoped, in the deepest parts of his heart, that it was all just a meaningless display. He mumbled some responses, he wasn't even sure what his mouth was doing at this point. He let his body carry the act, locked the true pain attached to the possibility of it's reality away, and allowed his mind to move to the plotting. There had been an underlying scent of sorrow clinging to Geralt since they had been invited on the hunt by Borch. That thought gave him hope, something comforting to stash away with the pain. He'd have to sort it all out later. After he made sure his witcher was no longer under threat.

"See you around, Geralt."

For now, it was time to stick his nose back into the circles of information that surrounded the Continent's best storytellers. Time to find a bardic competition.


	8. Scene Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets a few assassins and learns a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all get this chapter early, since I'm going camping this weekend. Enjoy!
> 
> My longest chapter in this fic so far. If anyone doesn't understand the theatre references, please ask, I'll add them to the end notes. Let me know of typos and I'll get them fixed.

He would have enjoyed the competition much more if he had just been there playing as usual. Despite it starting off with his old rival harassing him.

"I really prefer you silent, Jaskier."

"It's not my fault you make such a clamor no one can stand to listen to you, Valdo."

Then they were calling Marx out to perform, and Jaskier knew they'd have to pick this up later. He did manage to learn a few things though, travelling bards picked up all sorts of knowledge, and often only other bards cared. So these competitions were a great place to pick up information. He learned of a few towns that had been making a fuss about Witchers, and one small-scale Lord who had declared that any Witcher on his lands should be promptly hunted down and killed. He doubted that anyone talking that big would actually hire the Theatre, but it would be worth looking into. He picked up a few leads about assassins, which surely even the bards telling the tales did not know what was truly going on. He was surprised to find out there was a working Actor right here in Ard Carraigh. That would be his next move, then. Track and interrogate.

It wasn't terribly difficult to find the assassin, or to track her movements as she left the city two days later. Following her proved fairly easy, he thought, perhaps she was just an Understudy. He must not have lost as much of his edge as he'd anticipated. Which was why the attack outside of the city was unexpected, but he was able to easily dodge the dart hurled his way. His dagger was mid-flight, but the assassin had already vanished. The dagger thumped into a tree, and there was a scream as the would-be assassin fell from the tree. The dagger buried in her neck, when she landed as gracelessly as only the dead can, was  _ not _ one of Jaskier's. The sound of a footfall was infinitesimally quiet, only someone with enhanced hearing could have detected it, and Jaskier's head snapped toward the disturbance.

"Silence." The man greeted as he stepped from the trees, and instantly Jaskier knew who had assisted him. The only other assassin he was aware of who enjoyed the popularity of a bard. The world knew him as Valdo Marx, but Jaskier knew him by another name.

"Clamor."

"Was he after you?"

"Not me, but mine. I will do what I must."

"Don't we all?"

"Why did you?"

"Why did I what, Silence? Leave you? You know we couldn't stay as we were. We would have killed each other, quite literally. Save you? How could I not? Death and devotion scream the same tune, dear."

"I love another."

"I know. Not that I've told anyone, that would expose my own weakness."

"I must save him, and now I am aware that you know why."

"You're no longer even a Stage Hand. You'll never find the Director."

"I know, keep your secrets close. We all learned this. I merely need to remove a name from the list."

"That will be difficult without so much as backstage access."

"Information I was hoping to obtain." He gestured at the cooling body between them.

"My apologies, then."

"I don't suppose you know anything?"

"Of relevant use that I would care to share? No."

"Then I have things I must do."

"So. An act."

"No. A play."

"Which you've written?"

"Are you the audience?"

"For now."

"Either way. The show must go on."

"Break a leg." Valdo smirks. And with a small popping sound, he's gone.

~~~

After leaving the city, Jaskier had decisions to make. He opted to find the safe house located outside Gelibol. He hadn't taken his pack when he left the mountain, and was still wearing the same outfit, washing it regularly but the red was far too bright for the next stage of his journey. He turned his red doublet inside-out, revealing the deep grey lining, and tied it around his waist, hiding the top of his red pants. When he cuffed the bottoms of the pants up, most of the red was hidden. His outfit was still far too rich, so he avoided the roads as much as possible, taking several shortcuts and walking in the trees when he could. He still had his dagger secreted, but readily available, should he need it.

He made it to the abandoned farm without incident, and dropped into the well. After pulling himself out of the water and onto a small ledge, he followed a gently sloping tunnel which curved around to a room carved from the rock under the farm. He cast Stage Lights, and a trench that ran along the entire wall filled with flame, lighting the room pleasantly. It was not a huge or fancy affair, but the safe house held 2 beds and several chests, trunks, and wardrobes, and a tub in the corner. One of the wardrobes had shelves filled with food. When he had planned his safe houses, he had had a fair bit of magic worked in; everything would stay as he had left it, fresh, preserved, and protected. He doubted even Geralt's medallion would react until he was halfway down the tunnel, the magic was so contained. He could rest and outfit himself here. He stripped and curled up in one of the beds, finally allowing the emotions to wash over him. He cried himself to sleep.

One of the chests was enchanted to be linked to identical chests in his other safe houses, they all shared the same contents, his primary kit. He carefully removed it, piece by piece, and placed his red outfit and travel pack in its stead. With great reverence, and no small amount of sorrow, he set his lute on top before closing and sealing the chest. From various other wardrobes and chests, he pulled dark colored clothing, a small pack which was magically linked to the enchanted chest and would stay flat while he wore it, and a few other odds and ends. He carefully packed a few other things into the trunk attached to the pack, set a purse full of coins on the bed next to the rest of his kit and took a deep breath. He never thought he'd be getting dressed this way again, but Destiny obviously had her own plans.

~~~

He's traveling through the forests when he hears a whooshing sound, and catches the smell of ozone, Jaskier turns to face the portal. Whoever it is must be portalling in for him, he is in the middle of the woods with no one else around, after all. He slides behind a tree, dagger in his hand, ready to defend himself from whoever steps through. Yennefer. She's probably not here to kill him, but he can't be certain yet. She looks fabulous, violet eyes glimmering under her raven hair. Her dress is some shade of dark blue that pretends to be black in dim light, accentuating her figure, and brushing at the tops of black shoes with what looks to be silver filigree. Gods, he somehow forgot how beautiful she was. He steps from behind the tree.

"Yennefer."

"Jaskier. Not your usual colorful self today." This only elicits a sigh from the Jaskier.

"Yennefer, you've obviously tracked me here, then gone out of your way to show up. Why?"

"I thought you might like to know what I've learned."

"At what price?"

"Price?" She tried very hard to look affronted. It didn't work.

"I know better. There's always a price with you, Yen." He hadn't really meant to call her that, but it was too late to take it back. She stepped forward, almost in his space.

"Jask." He tried very hard to ignore how her saying his name that way made him feel. He cocked an eyebrow and then she  _ did _ step into his space. Her body nearly touching his, he felt her breath across his ear as she whispered to him.

"Just this once, I'll let you owe me." He was grateful his control of his body let him suppress the shudder that wanted to crawl up his spine from his stiff dick. Damn it, body, no one told you this was erotic. Quit. His body refused to listen to that plea. He fought the urge to turn his head into her neck, to breathe deeply of that sweet/sour scent that poured from her. It made him think of tart berry pie in summer. No, damn, pay attention Jaskier. Back to the conversation.

"Then what do you know, Yennefer?"

"I know who ordered the contract, and where they gave the info to the contact. His name is Thayden and he's a travelling merchant. He issued the contract in White Bridge.

Why, Yen? I heard your conversation on that mountain. I know he pissed you off." She took a step back to meet his eyes.

"I'm angry, yes. Hell, I'm furious. But I still don't hate him. And I don't want him to come to harm, not if I can help."

"You still love him."

"If you dare to tell anyone ..." She raised her hand as though she would choke him. He knew better.

"Don't worry, Yen. I'm good at keeping secrets, too, remember? Just as you kept mine after Rinde."

"Thanks, Jask. Go do what you need to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect Yennefer to show up here, or to have such sexual tension with Jaskier. When I started this chapter, I expected answers from Valdo. The characters run the story, I just write down for you.


	9. Setting Props

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finds Thayden so he can get information on the contract

Getting to White Bridge was no problem. Just a bit of travel time. Finding out from there where Thayden went would be another story. That's the thing about travelling merchants, they travel. Figuring out the merchant's most likely path and timing would allow him to find the merchant, and then he could question him.

Still clad in his Theatre garb; dark clothes, weapons effectively concealed about his body, a lightweight dark colored cloak around his shoulders, Jaskier was nearly indescribable from most peasants at the market. Browns and greys were much more effective at blending in to many surroundings than anything he'd wear as a bard, or the blacks favored by ... no, don't think about _him_. That's a sure path to losing track of what you're doing now, Silence. Back on track.

He wandered the market apparently aimlessly, until he knew who to question to get information. The first two showed with a brief chat that they had no real information, but he finally found someone who could help him. Unfortunately for the seller of overpriced jewelry (Jaskier suspected a fair bit of it was fenced goods) the man was unwilling to part with said information. But Jaskier had all night to pose his questions, and had methods of persuasion at his disposal. The next day the poor merchant would insist to his prospective buyers that he had drunkenly shut his fingers in a door, breaking two of them, and he needed the money from his wares so he could see a healer. It worked out fine. 

What Jaskier got was part of Thayden's schedule. The merchant made a large circuit from town to town, and had not been in White Bridge since last fall. Which meant, if his route had not changed he should be able to find the man on the other side of the Brokilon Forest, perhaps in or near Nastrog. Well, if he backtracked the route, he should find what he was looking for, and he could always ask more people along the way.

More questions in more towns. And he only had to kill one person. He really was trying to avoid it, you know. But the man tried to call the guard, and Jaskier couldn't have that. He finally located Thayden just outside Cidaris, which was exquisitely fortunate. He found a private area, an abandoned house which seemed custom-made for his purposes, and bound the man to a chair. Then he sat patiently to wait for him to wake.

"Are you going to make me torture you? Because I really don't like to torture people. I mean, _I will_ , I just prefer not to. So if you'd kindly tell me why you contracted with the Theatre, I'd be obliged."

"The what?"

"The Theatre of Death. Contract killings, assassins for hire, you know, _make someone dead_?"

"You've got the wrong man."

"So you are going to make me torture you?" Jaskier wrapped his hand around the man's little finger as he raised an eyebrow in question.

"No?" How did a man manage to make a simple negation sound like a question? This fellow was strange. Well, Jaskier supposed he was _literally_ threatening the man, who probably thought he had no way out of being tortured. He could answer the question. Though maybe he didn't think that would help. He could feel the tension in the merchant's hand, and tugged the digit gently. The knuckle popped, and the man screamed. The cry was fear-based, of course, the release of the knuckle didn't hurt, neither the finger nor the hand was damaged, it just made noise. There was no pain in the man's scent, just that odd bitter fear smell. And eyes far too large.

"Why did you contact the Theatre?" Jaskier's voice was calm, and he knew that increased the fear factor as well. Honestly, he'd rather use fear than pain to get his answers.

"I had to!" the merchant gulped. "He made me, said he'd confiscate my wares. Do you know what that would do to a travelling merchant like myself? He'd ruin me! Please, it's him you want, not me. Please, just let me live, please!"

Well, now we're getting somewhere, thought Jaskier. For half-answers and babbled truths, this was a good start.

"That's not really an answer, Thayden." He saw the man's eyes go wide as he addressed him by name. "I need to know who, and why."

"He'll be so angry, he'll destroy me! He wanted the Witchers dead! I don't know why, but that's what he wanted!"

Oh how frustrating. This man is going to be the death of me. Or perhaps the other way around. The thought made him smirk a bit, and he smelled another sharp spike of fear. _The Witchers_ , that's what Thayden said. Which meant it wasn't just Geralt. All witchers? How many were there, anyway? Need clarification on that, obviously. Jaskier hooked a finger under the merchant's jaw and met his eyes.

"You're going to have to tell me who he is, Thayden. You know that, right?" He felt the man swallow nervously. "You have many more things to tell me." Thayden nodded.

"Good boy. What Witchers did you contract for? Do you have names?"

"The Wolves. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen. I don't know all their names. I think there are four or five of them. That's all he said. "Ask for the Wolf Witchers of Kaer Morhen to be added to the list.' That's what he said. Please, will you spare me? I ... "

"You're not done answering my questions. Who told you to add these men? Who made you contact the Theatre?" The fear spiked until it tipped into something else. Blind panic. Dammit. Torture wouldn't help now, he needed the man's mind calm. He brought his hand up into the sign.

"Query." The merchant's eyes glazed over a bit, all scent of fear and panic dissipated as the magic gripped Thayden's mind. "Who ordered the kills?"

"Stefan deTalryn, undersecretary of merchant affairs in Winneburg."

So, someone in Nilfgaard who thought himself important had traveled north to try and destroy the Wolf Witchers. Well, he didn't know the others, but Geralt was a Wolf Witcher, and as he understood it, there were only a few left. They were family to each other. Jaskier was not going to let this happen. He would track this Stefan down and find out if it had been his idea or come from higher up. But if all the Wolves were on the list, Geralt would not be the only one in danger. So he'd probably have to track down other witchers and save their hides, as well. An assassin's work was never done.

"One last thing, Thayden. Who was your contact for the Theatre?"

"She called herself Kit, that's all I know." Yes, Jaskier knew Kit. And he wasn't looking forward to meeting her again. She was a crazy little fox, but he knew general locales for a few of her hideouts. Some of the glaze was fading from the merchant's eyes as he looked at Jaskier.

"Will you kill me? It would be kinder than letting Stefan know what I've done. I know I've no right to beg you for such mercy, but I will. My family lives in Cidaris, and it won't be just me Stefan will destroy."

Jaskier crouched in front of the man who looked at him now with clear, pleading eyes, and put his left hand on the merchant's shoulder. He rested his right hand on the man's chest.

"Then sleep." He thrust his hand forward, hard and fast, feeling ribs crack and watching the smallest glimpse of shock dart through the man's eyes before that odd, indescribable glimmer of life faded. He arranged it so it looked like an accident, thrown from his rig in the swamp, tongue of the cart broken, and let the horse wander toward the city, dragging it's broken harnesses. 

Now to find Kit. He glanced at the sky, the moon was just past full. He didn't have a lot of time, then. He had to hope he'd get answers soon. He had to assume Geralt had been the first attempt, and if he was correct, another Witcher's third act would begin within a week. If he was incorrect, then Geralt had already lost part of his family.


	10. Lights Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our assassin meets another Actor, and learns some information.

It took him two days to find Kit. Correction: She found him. And she remembered him. He could tell because the dagger only nicked his ear. He heard it thump into the side of the abandoned house behind him, and felt the trickle of blood tickle down the curve of his ear, as he heard a quiet whistle. A small figure dropped down before him - from thin air. That was impressive. He'd never seen anyone Take the Stage without an actual landing spot. He raised an eyebrow to show his fascination.

"Hello, foxling."

"Wildflower!" 

He hadn't been called that since he was a child. Kit would know, though, she had been raised with him. They had been accepted into the Theatre together, gone through Auditions together, and only parted when they began to get their own shows. Fang had called him Wildflower, because he had been found trying to sell a battered bouquet of weeds and flowers for a few coppers, desperate to eat. Fang had been watching him all day, as he grew more and more desperate. As evening drew nigh, and his bundle of herbs wilted, he tried offering them to a man who shoved him out of the way. He went absolutely feral, stomping on the man's foot and hitting him in the balls before running away. He did not want to get caught by the guard. Finally, he tried to steal a loaf of bread from a merchant stall, but he was young and inexperienced. The merchant caught him, and that's when Fang appeared, claiming that this wild child was his, begging forgiveness from the merchant, and purchasing a loaf of bread. He gave the bread to this small, crazy whelp as he led him to his new home, where he introduced him as Wildflower.

Kit jumped into his arms for a hug, which was a relief, he didn't know how she would react to him showing back up. Despite being as old as he was, and full-grown, she was literally the size of a child. They had always suspected she had Dwarven blood. It gave her certain advantages in this line of work. Her hood fell from her head, and the wild mop of red hair combined with rather pointed features did indeed make her look a bit like a fox.

"They told me you died." Her small fist slammed into the lower part of his chest. That was going to leave a bruise, but at least she didn't break his ribs. "You have some explaining to do!"

"Yes, and I'd rather not talk about it here in the open."

"Follow." She led him into the house and down a rickety ladder into the basement. In the far corner, she tweaked a candle holder on the wall and a secret passage opened. Yes, most Actors in the Theatre had safehouses, and this was one of Kit's. It was quite different from his, but still had an arrangement of two beds with multiple chests and such. She sat on one bed and he sat on the other, facing her.

" _ Everyone _ thought I was dead, Kit. How else does one leave the Theatre?" She nodded her understanding and he continued.

"I have a serious situation, though, and it seems you're involved. I have a friend, a witcher whose name is on the List. And I understand the invitation was given to you."

"Silence, you know we don't ..."

"I remember quite well what we do and don't do, Kit! Just because I managed to get out doesn't mean I forgot all the lessons drilled into our heads. But this is important, Death of the Author important. I do not have time to take out as many of the Theatre as possible, and in the end it would change nothing but the time and nature of my own demise. You know this as well as I do. But I will stop at nothing -  _ nothing _ \- to end this contract."

"Nothing, Wildflower?" Her voice was quiet, not judging, but gauging his resolve.

"Nothing, little fox." He could hear the iron in his own voice.

She was on his lap in an instant, and he could feel cold steel below his ear. He held himself still but tilted his head to further bare his neck to her.

"You've lost your mind, pretty flower."

"I'll not deny that."

Things were quiet for several heartbeats, and his mind started racing again. Would Kit help him? Could she help him? As the one who had taken the contract, she had the authority to put it on hold, but even so, that could only stop certain things. It seemed odd to him that this brother who grew up with him was his best way in. 

They were  _ all _ brothers-in-arms, gender was irrelevant, they had heard the stories together of how the first female brother had killed three of her fellows when they had insisted the girls be called sisters. As she had pinned the fourth, blade to his throat, she had insisted that they were just as deadly, and should be named and treated equally. The pinned man had responded "Thank you, brother." There were no other dissenters.

He was glad the little fox had risen in the ranks enough to be able to accept invitations. She deserved the elevated position. He felt her blade move from his throat.

"I will do what I can from where I sit." She slowly climbed off his lap. "I cannot stop what has occurred. I'm assuming you foiled the Actor after Geralt?" Jaskier nodded and gnawed his lip while he waited for her to compile her knowledge.

"Fortunately for you, only one other Actor has been sent to their mark. For the show called Lambert. If we are yet more fortunate, the third Actor has not been given instruction. I will contact you if this is not true."

"Thank you, Kit. Truly. I owe you one."

"Or more." She replied with a feral grin. "But you'd best hurry. The moon will be dark before you know it."

He gave a nod of thanks, and left his brother's hideaway. He would need help finding Lambert, the only mention of Geralt's family he had gotten thus far was a brief mention of Eskel. Why hadn't he pushed for more information before striking out on his own? Unproductive thoughts, Silence. He didn't have time to wander from village to village listening for news on witchers, and hoping to stumble upon the right one. For all he knew Act four had already begun for this Lambert.

He couldn't see any other way around it, he was going to have to beg Yennefer for help again, and probably owe her several months worth of servitude. He had nothing else to pay her with, unless she needed someone dead, but she was quite capable of taking care of that herself if she so desired.

He found a healer in the next village who could send a message for him. It was a simple message, and he hoped it would be effective.

"Your bard needs you." He included his location and took a room at the local inn for the evening.


	11. A New Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find Lambert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the belatedness of this chapter, I was ill this weekend with a vicious cold/flu. No, not the coronavirus, but it still rendered me incapable of functioning.
> 
> So we finally get to encounter Lambert, who I tagged at the beginning of the fic.
> 
> As always, feel free to yell at me. Comments are love.

When Yen showed up she was very unhappy. A failing bit of magic had appeared to deliver the note. It was disgusting, and if he ever did it again, she vowed to turn  _ him  _ into a rotting raven. Yes, yes, she was such an angry sorceress. He managed not to roll his eyes, that would certainly not help his case. Though he was relatively sure she wouldn't carry out such threats. She gave him a xenovox, it could be used to contact her, they'd hear each other's voices even across great distances.

She was busy, literally late for a meeting. Geralt had disappeared, though he was likely in the dungeon in Cintra. Nilfgaard was rapidly advancing, and everyone was concerned. So he needed to spit out his request, posthaste.

Well, if Geralt was in Calanthe's dungeon, he was not having a great time, but he should be fairly safe. The news of Nilfgaard's advancement was concerning, of course. But he definitely had bigger things on his mind. Like where to find this Lambert person. Yes, fine, witcher, but witchers are people too, Yen. Just like mages. Yes, like anyone. She sure was talking a lot for someone who wanted so badly to hurry. He did roll his eyes this time. It earned him several interesting epithets.

Foolish, noble bard. Morally-inclined assassin. Actor without a stage. He was not impressed. She used her magic to scry for Lambert’s location.

"Very well, I've found him. How close would you like me to get you?"

"Not so close he'll lop my head off when I step out of the portal. Can you get me just outside of his detection range?" She pauses for a moment, and Silence thinks she must be doing some calculations or something, to get him to the correct area.

"Jaskier?" He doesn't respond to the name right away and so misses the concerned look that crosses Yennefer's face. She takes his chin in one hand as she repeats his name more firmly, turning his face to hers.

"Hmm?" He takes in the concerned look on her face, and it makes him a tad uneasy. He doesn't like that look on her face, though he's not sure why.

"Jaskier the Bard, Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, look me in the eye."

As he meets her eyes, he realizes she truly is speaking directly to him. This is his name, one of his titles, he is the Bard who sings the praises of the White Wolf.  _ He is no longer Silence _ , though he still carries those skills and memories. He knows how to be Silence, and for now those skills must take dominance, but it is not who he truly is any longer, right?

"Silence was not my friend, nor Geralt's. Jaskier is. Do not forget who you are. When this is all said and done, we need the cocky bard back.  _ We need Jaskier. _ "

He feels the emotion well up inside him. This is all but a love confession from the prickly sorceress. The woman who, like his favorite witcher, insisted they need no one. Suddenly he understood why they needed each other. Why they thought they were the only ones who could fit together. It's a thing they've all had in common, thinking they were unlovable, that they had nothing to give to another person. If you cannot give the love someone expects, you make due. But they hadn't been making due; they'd been behaving naturally, even if it was fucked up and with horrible, emotionally toxic feelings and expectations. Even he was little better, for having spent so much time playing human, he'd re-learned the emotions, they'd never actually been gone, just muted and easily buried; and after about 15 years of pining for Geralt, he had realized he truly did have  _ real  _ emotions. Yen was right, he needed to remember who he truly was. Geralt needed the skills Silence brought to the table, but the innovation and emotion brought by his loud-mouthed bard. And the quietly assured strength of this currently slightly nervous-looking sorceress. She had said we, not he, so she needed him too? There were too many tangled threads there to work out now. A puzzle for later, assuming they all survived the chaos that seemed to currently entangle them.

"Thank you, Yen. He needs you too, you know, and I'm not opposed. If we all come out of this alive, we should meet together." The hug lasted what felt like an obscenely long time, and they held each other as though they were anchors in a storm. When they finally parted, Jaskier was slightly surprised to see a tear glistening in Yennefer's lower lashes.

"We have things to do, bard." She opened the portal. "Go, I'll see you after."

He nodded and stepped through the portal which appeared on the trail to Lambert's campsite. It would be easy to track him from here.

~~~

**LAMBERT**

The forest was  _ suddenly _ too quiet. Something wasn't right. Lambert's eyes narrowed, and he reached for his sword as his adrenaline spiked, but a solid body flew into him before he could draw it. The shoulder caught him in the ribs under his right arm, and he felt a couple of them crack. It wasn't until he hit the ground that he felt the sting across his abdomen. The figure wrapped around his chest began to rise, and he caught sight of a metallic glint. Before he could react to that, another dark figure came from nowhere and struck his attacker, rolling them both off of him.

"Run, Lambert!" The voice had to come from the second stranger, it was beautiful and musical, and Lambert wanted to curl up with that comforting voice and stay there forever. It sounded like midsummer rain, and tasted like heavily spiced wine, the kind he preferred. But the voice said run; Lambert knew it was an important command, and he struggled to his feet.

It wasn't long before his blood-soaked breeches and braies chafed his skin, and his thighs were getting chilled from the cooling blood. He collapsed twice before he was unable to get back up. He couldn't run anymore, it didn't matter what the voice had said. Lambert collapsed, and rolled over onto his back. He saw someone standing above him.

"Can't run. Sorry. I … sorry …" He wondered briefly why he felt the need to apologize before darkness claimed him.

**JASKIER**

Despite being deposited on his quarry's trail, it had taken him nearly too long to track the witcher called Lambert. He was definitely out of practice. But he had a bead now, he knew he'd see Lambert once he broke into the clearing. The air became too still too quickly, and Jaskier knew act 4 was beginning. Fuck. He took off in a sprint, and just as he reached the clearing, saw the figure leap for the witcher. Fuck! He was going to be too late! Utilizing everything he had, he dove for the assassin just as he struck the golden-eyed man.

"Run, Lambert!" 

He crashed bodily into the Actor who was just rising from the tangle of his intended victim. The assassin was momentarily taken off guard, but that moment was all he needed to gain the advantage. One hand around the other's throat, legs pinning the other's legs, he let their momentum take them as far as it chose. He ended up on the ground, with the other above him, but that was a good position for hilting his dagger in the other's kidney. He saw the look of surprise cross that man's face, before removing the blade, and kicking the body off of himself.

He didn't realize he'd used a sign when yelling his warning, until he looked for the witcher over the body of the previous assassin, and despite the smell of Lambert's blood, the witcher was gone.

Good news: He had a starting point. With the witcher trailing the scent of blood, he'd be easy to find. The bad news: It was a lot of blood, he may have difficulty keeping this Wolf alive.

Fortune favored Jaskier, and it didn't take long to find the wounded witcher. He ignored the mumbled apologies from the man who passed out as he arrived. His examination revealed that the blade had not been poisoned (thank Melitele for small favors), and was only deep near it's beginning point. Most of the witcher's musculature was still intact, and nothing internal seemed damaged.

He picked Lambert up, careful of his wound, and promptly realized that witchers must be built even denser than assassins. He knew he and his brothers weighed more than humans of a similar size, but even though Lambert was nowhere near as big as Geralt, he felt about twice as heavy as Jaskier's brothers. The injured witcher hadn't made it too far, and Jaskier set him down gently when he made it back to the camp. Fetching supplies from Lambert's bags, he proceeded to patch the man up. Clean and sterilize the wound, apply stitches and healing salve. Bandage. As he applied the bandages, he saw the bruising to Lambert's ribs, and realized he'd have to set one that had actually snapped.

"I'm glad you're not awake for this, friend." He said as he placed his hands in the correct positions and pushed with one while bracing with the other He felt the rib snap into place with a sickening crunch.

**LAMBERT**

He woke quickly, and with a start. His ribs and abdomen screamed in pain, but the pain helped him focus. He had been attacked, and he wasn't alone now. He was back in camp, however, and it was dark. He focused on the man sitting by the fire; slim, short dark hair, handsome (not that he'd ever admit that, to anyone), this was the one that had tackled the one who attacked him. Must be the one who patched him up too. The man stood, walked over, and handed him a water skin.

"It's yours. Untouched, and as safe as you left it. You've got a few broken ribs, and the cut on your abdomen is only deep on your right side. You'll probably need a few days of rest, but you should be fine."

There was something odd about the way the man spoke. He couldn't quite place it. Too calm?

"Oh? Did I get rescued by a randomly wandering healer? What do you know about wounds?" He obviously knew something, Lambert's wounds had been properly treated, he was pretty sure "broken ribs" meant more than just cracked, but none of them felt out of place. And he thought he'd felt one dig inside when he got hit, which meant maybe this man had re-set it? The silence almost dragged too long before the man above him spoke again.

"I've taken care of enough of the White Ones wounds to understand. I thought about giving you some Swallow, but there was only one left in your bag. I thought I'd give you the choice." Things snapped into focus for Lambert.

White One had to be Geralt. This man had taken care of his brother, probably a lot. Had to be his bard, that would be the only person around enough to fit the profile. Knew about wounds. Knew about witchers, and something about their potions. How much did he know about Lambert, specifically? Knew about their accelerated healing. Had probably seen similar wounds. Was still far too calm. Collected like a witcher. No yellow eyes, heartbeat close to a human pace; not a witcher, then. Spoke with the same detached impassivity though. Smelled a little off. Not quite human? Is that why Geralt liked him?

"So you're Geralt's bard, then. Guess you think I owe you now?" He drank some water while he waited for the bard's response.

"If we were keeping score, I suppose you might. But I'm not interested in that from you at this point."

"Oh good, so you'll ask me later, then." Lambert said with as much venom as he could muster.

"Are you always this personable, or is it just me?"

"I'm a right ray of fucking sunshine, got a problem?" He growled.

He tried to remember the bard's name, but names were one thing he had trouble keeping in his memory. All the ridiculous shit he'd ever learned stuck, he unintentionally memorized the layout of every city, town and half-crown shithole he'd ever been in, could still plot out destroyed pathways in Kaer Morhen, could tell you every Gwent card he'd ever owned or won, but names were a fucking issue. He heard the bard sigh.

"Do you want the healing potion?"

It would help, but he didn't have all the ingredients he'd need to make more. Sleep would also help. But did he trust this bard while he slept? He could already feel the weariness of his body's healing processes dragging at his consciousness. Geralt travelled with this man regularly, he was sure his brother slept during those times, so he should be trustworthy. But this was no regular man, he had seen him tackle an assassin, and he apparently won. He wasn’t human. So he was dangerous. But so were his brothers, so was he. 

No, he should save the Swallow for when he really needed it. The need for rest tugged at his mind, it would be nice to give in. But could he trust this man?

"I know nothing about you."

"Wrong. You've already correctly deduced that I'm "Geralt's bard" as you put it. Don't sell your own intelligence short. You've figured out that I can be dangerous, I saw it in your eyes. So let me fill in some gaps. Before becoming a bard, I was an assassin, an Actor in the Theatre of Death. If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you instead of bringing you back to camp and treating your injuries. Or let the other Actor kill you, it looked like he had a good chance of succeeding. However, I happen to know that you're important to Geralt, and he's important to me. That makes it worthwhile for me to keep you alive, and as safe as possible while I'm here. Sleep would do you good, I'll watch over you."

Fair enough. Though it brought up still more questions. But he could already feel his eyelids stuttering closed.

"If you kill me, I'll haunt you forever."

"Fair enough. I'll see you when you wake, Wolf."

Lambert fell promptly into the arms of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up longer than I thought. I blame the internal ramblings of both Jaskier and Lambert, who in my headcanon, are both ADHD. The mutagens don't get rid of that, but they enhance the thought processes, so they essentially think even faster than normal ADHD folk.
> 
> Are we leaning toward a ~~Geryenskier~~ ~~Yenskierger~~ throuple? I didn't intend to, but it's looking like that. I apologize to Geraskier purists, the tag is not intended to be misleading, and I won't mark it to include Yen unless she actually gets physically involved with these two. In the meantime, you can read it as just good friends. Even I'm not sure where it's headed.


	12. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Lambert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize, dear readers, for my absence. The last couple of months have been very difficult. If you are still here, or still following, please know that you have my appreciation. I do not know what my update schedule will be from here out, but I am once again actively working on this.
> 
> I have given a tentative chapter count, and cannot guarantee that it will not change.

Jaskier waited in the wings, quietly watching over Lambert. It was a common practice while stalking your prey, to rest yourself with light meditation, while they did nothing of note (like sleep) but staying alert enough to rouse as soon as they moved. Geralt would probably have been annoyed at how often Jaskier employed this technique when they first started travelling together, if he had known about it.

When Lambert began to stir he was immediately aware.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh you know, fabulous for a guy who got his guts laid open." Lambert snarked.

"Only slightly minced. You'll be fine." Said Jaskier as he unbandaged the wound to check on it. It was healing well, and with luck would only leave a small scar from the bottom of the witcher's ribs to just above his navel.

"How long was I out?"

"All night and most of today." Jaskier passed him the water skin, and pointed to a couple of rabbits skewered and roasting over the fire. "Dinner will be ready soon." Lambert took a long drink from the skin before he spoke again.

"I have questions."

"Of course."

"Did you Axii me?"

"It's called Query, and I suspect they're related. It's meant to get honest answers, one cannot lie while under Query."

"Yeah, I get why that is." Lambert was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "Why?"

"I didn't intend to use the sign. I just wanted to ensure your safety."

"Not very safe to make me run with a slit belly and busted ribs."

"Yes, I erred. At this point all I can do is apologize."

Lambert grunted, apparently accepting the apology, and took another drink before asking his next question.

"So why are these Actors after me?"

"A contract was issued for the Wolves of Kaer Morhen. I discovered it when they targeted Geralt."

"Assassins attacked Geralt?" Lambert looked shocked, and perhaps a little terrified. Geralt must be important to him, too.

"Yes. I dealt with it, and Geralt should be safe for now. I was told there shouldn't be any other Actors out on this job, the attempt on your life should be the last, assuming I can accomplish my goal. Do you know anything about the locations of the other Wolves?"

"Vesemir's at the keep. I'll head up early and make sure he's alright. Eskel's probably already started his journey back this way. We winter at Kaer Morhen."

"I'll keep my ears open for news of him, but I have to see a man in Nilfgaard about a contract."

"Still out to kill people, eh?"

"No, I'm trying to stop the contract on your family, the only way I know how."

Lambert stared at Jaskier for a ridiculously long period of time, but his training had taught him to observe quietly, and he employed that skill now, waiting for Lambert to become uncomfortable with the silence. He watched in fascination as the witcher's eye twitched nearly imperceptibly, then his pupils did that too-rapid expansion and contraction, before the faintest tinge of pink colored his cheeks. So, that  _ was _ an indication of a blush, Jaskier would have to remember that. Though Lambert was flushing from frustration, unlike most of the responses he'd previously seen in Geralt. It still took several more seconds for Lambert to relent, it seemed he was a stubborn man.

"Fine, whatever." Lambert seemed to immediately realize that was not an appropriate response and attempted to phrase the rest as though he were finishing a sentence. "Thanks, then."

Jaskier smiled quietly as he checked the roasting rabbits, and discovering they were done, handed one to Lambert. The witcher accepted the hot food with a nod, and promptly began plucking tiny bits of meat off the rabbit's back with his teeth. It seemed a delicate balance of finesse and barbarism, and Jaskier found himself momentarily fascinated.

"So everyone should be at Kaer Morhen this winter? How do I get there?"

"You don't. Not without a guide. And no one gets through after the snows get deep enough, the mountain becomes completely impassable."

Jaskier momentarily forgot himself and let all his questions tumble out at once.

"You don't have a horse, will you be able to carry, why don't you, can you make it, when do the snows ...?"

He cut himself off as he realized he was not only running all his words together, but probably not even getting full sentences out of his mouth. Damn, he hadn't done that in a really long time. He was usually much more careful to speak in a way other people could understand. He found himself slightly boggled, though, when the odd string of words not only didn't seem to phase Lambert, but the golden-eyed man swiftly and easily answered.

"No, I don't. Yes, I can. Lost it? I'm a Witcher. Probably not for another week and a half."

"Lost it?"

"Not my fault the fucker cheated."

"You wagered your horse?"

"Yeah? 'S just a horse. Not like it was my swords or something."

It seemed that struck a nerve, there had to be a story there. Jaskier wondered if he'd ever get to hear it.

"You should be good to go in the morning, yeah?"

"I could go now." Lambert shrugged.

"I want to check your wound in the morning before you do."

"Sure Mommy."

The meal had not slowed down due to the conversation, and by this time, both carcasses were picked clean of meat. Lambert now contentedly chewed on a leg bone while they conversed.

Are you still hungry?"

"Nope. I just like gnawing on the bones. Is that weird? It's weird, right?"

"Not if it makes you that happy."

Lambert grinned around the bone.

Lambert's wound was healing nicely. It was mostly closed just a deep, angry looking scab at the worst area. They decided it didn't need a bandage, and the Witcher and the Assassin parted ways.

Jaskier had no way of knowing, as he approached Winneburg to find Stefan deTalryn, that Cintra had fallen; Calanthe making her death a statement. Nor that Cirilla had been abducted by Cahir, while Geralt left searching for his child surprise even as she managed to escape her captor.


	13. The Final Act Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finds the man who wanted the Wolves dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is torture in this chapter. I have endeavored not to get too graphic, but please take care of yourself if this will be a problem. I have included a summary at the end in case you need to skip.
> 
> I've also updated the chapter count.

He found the man easily enough, it's not difficult to find someone with the title of undersecretary of merchant affairs, especially when he is loud, boastful, and behaves as though every other merchant who passes through town has personally offended him. Jaskier spent a few days tracking him, the old familiar habits coming back to him easily. Blending into market crowds, squatting atop walls and buildings, hiding in plain sight. It only took a few days to learn his target's daily routine. He had no family, but lived in a large house with a few servants. A bit of casual chit-chat with them informed Jaskier that the man was not at all loved, not even liked by most of them. Only one of the servants was likely to cause an issue, and he'd have a day off tomorrow. How fortuitous. A little conniving, a little gold passed from his hands, and only  _ one _ vague threat, assured him that the house would be occupied only by his target. It was a simple matter to wait until the man slept, sneak into the house, and bind and gag him.

As he secured his victim to a chair in the soundproofed basement (surely the reason the room was covered in padding and heavy drapes to muffle sounds was only another thing he'd want to kill this man for), he had no way of knowing that at the same time, Yennefer was fending off the first of the fireballs.

Now that he had his victim alone, it was time to get his answers.

"You've put out some contracts, Stefan, and I want to know why."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, perhaps, since you were too much of a coward to contact the Theatre of Death yourself ..." He heard the heartbeat jump a bit, the man's eyes grew a touch wider.

"I - I don't ..." Jaskier put his finger to the man's lips.

"Don't bother lying to me, I know what you've done. What I don't know, what I'd  _ like _ to know, is why."

"I did no such thing!"

"I dislike torturing people, but I'm very good at it." Jaskier busied himself examining the man's littlest finger, holding it gently, inspecting the nail, only the softest touches; for now. "The contract you've put out has set assassins against someone who is important to me. Perhaps, then, you can understand that I am not at all inclined to give you mercy of any sort." 

He felt a grim sense of satisfaction as the small finger in his hand snapped, and Stefan screamed. Jaskier began to play with the heavy ring on the merchant man's next finger, the intentional threat obvious.

There was  _ a lot _ more screaming that night. Jaskier may have been rather more vicious than he needed to be. Especially after the man admitted to learning of the popularity of the White Wolf from his songs. He was concerned that such a popular witcher, one with a sense of moral superiority, could cause issues for his nephew, who was leading a squadron of their army into certain key areas of the North. He wanted to ensure the mutant would be unable to touch his family.

"How like a typical human, you people just want to use mutants to take care of the difficult things that you feel you need done, so that you can feel as if you've not gotten your hands dirty. But you've miscalculated your fear of the Witcher. It is not  _ that mutant _ you should have feared, but  _ this one _ ."

He crushed the man's jaw, and allowed himself a moment to bask in the cries and whimpers falling from that ruined face, before removing the man's heart with clinical precision. He cut off the hand with the ring at the wrist; and left it with all of it's mutilated fingers, outside the alderman's door as proof of the man's demise. Word would spread, he knew this from experience. He spoke the Finale and shook the blanket out of an upper story window, scattering the ashen remains to the wind.

If he'd known of the timing, he would have laughed that he pulled the man's heart from his chest just as Yennefer razed the fields of Sodden with chaos and fire.

He approached the safehouse cautiously. Just because Kit was his brother did not mean she wouldn't kill him if he startled her. Besides, she was a touch crazy, and he was well aware of this. Just before he reached the broken door (was it broken before? He didn't think so, but he couldn't be certain) he sensed the pulse of magic behind him. 

"There you are, brother," he sighed.

"And here you are, brother." She replied. "Join me."

She led the way inside her bunker, and did not say another word until they were safely ensconced in a pair of wooden chairs with plush cushions. She set out two cups and a bottle of vodka to share, then looked at him expectantly while filling their mugs.

"Do you bring me news?"

"You heard of the fate of Stefan deTalryn, I assume?" He took a drink.

"I have indeed heard of the disappearance of the undersecretary of merchant affairs, everything but his hand gone." She drained over half her mug.

From his pack, Jaskier pulled a decent sized earthenware jar with strange markings on it, and removed the large cork. His brother smiled; a wild, manic grin that split her face as she reached her small hand into the jar and pulled out a human heart, dripping blood and looking as fresh as it had when it had been pulled from the man's chest days ago.

"I'll spread the tale of your wrath, but I suspect you want your name kept out of it?"

"You are a clever fox, indeed, brother."

She began to smear blood on his hand and fingers as she spoke, scraping it carefully from the organ in her hand, and he allowed her. He didn't understand, but that was not unusual in their relationship, and he was certain she would not harm him.

"Then I shall spread the tale of the Dark Dragon, who collects treasures that only it adores, and protects Witchers with a ferocity unheard of before now."

Taking his wrist gently in her blood-soaked fist, she placed his hand carefully against her cheek; before pulling back a bit and smacking it viciously against her skin, letting the fingers trail down, leaving a slightly smeared sanguine handprint, a very convincing looking bloody slap.

"We'll have them terrified!" A truly deranged giggle burbles from her lips as she pushes his cup toward him and drains her own before refilling it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you had to skip this chapter, Jaskier finds Stefan deTalryn, who arranged to have the Theatre go after the Wolves. He finds out the man heard of Geralt from Jaskier's songs, and wanted to protect his nephew who was leading a squadron into the North. He takes proof of death to Kit, who tells him "Then I shall spread the tale of the Dark Dragon, who collects treasures that only it adores, and protects Witchers with a ferocity unheard of before now."


	14. One Last Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wants to bug Yennefer once more, to help him get to Kaer Morhen and update the Wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to add a warning for vomit? It's the last line of the chapter if it'll be a problem for you.

He contacted Yen on the xenovox, certain that a portal was the only way he could get to Kaer Morhen. She sounded terrible, and he couldn't help the concern that bubbled up in him. She managed to make a small, weak portal, and he jumped into it without hesitation. The strange pulling that always happened inside a portal was much worse than usual, and the magic disgorged him face down just below the ceiling of the room. He landed hard, but with only a scraped palm and bruised knee. Yen was in bad shape, she was exhausted, mentally, physically, magically. 

"Yen."

"I'm not dead yet, Jaskier." Her voice was weak and broken. Yen lay on the bed, pale, sweaty, looking the worst he'd ever seen her. Her hands and arms were loosely bandaged. Every movement she made looked like it was agony. She was wearing the remnants of a dress.  _ Remnants!  _ It was as though the once fancy dress had been accidentally thrown in the fireplace and stomped on then pulled back out before she put it on. Much of the front was covered with scorch marks, the left sleeve was missing below her elbow, the right sleeve torn half away at her shoulder. This terrible state of her clothing told him how exhausted she was, she would not normally be caught dead wearing such a shambles.

"I know."

The room was in terrible shape. He guessed it was an abandoned farmhouse or something. He didn't know how long she'd been here, but the house still looked derelict. She obviously had not had the ability to do anything with it. There seemed to be no amenities here, just a pitcher of water with a mismatched cup and what appeared to be the remainder of her bandages, which he suspected had started life as an undergarment, on a broken table beside the bed. The remainder of a cupboard could be seen in the other corner, but it was obvious it held nothing of value, or even use. 

"When did you last eat, Yennefer?"

She was silent for a moment as she thought.

"I don't know. I'm honestly not sure I have the strength to eat right now."

This would never do. He couldn't just leave her here to starve to death. He remembered what Lambert had told him about the witchers wintering at Kaer Morhen. That meant they had to have food, shelter, maybe some kind of medical supplies? Yen needed all of these things, and he needed Geralt. He had to keep that suppressed for now, Yennefer was in much worse shape than he was. He needed to get them to Geralt.

"Can you show me where Geralt is? Do you have enough magic left to create a clear image?"

He expected her to question, but she did not. She pointed to a small mirror and he held it up. As soon as she touched it, the reflection rippled, and after a moment Geralt's face appeared. He seemed to be sitting, and Jaskier could tell he was laughing. The sight gave him strength, but he guessed Yen wouldn't be able to hold the image for long. He could see the floor behind the witcher, and he began to pool his magic. He picked Yen up in his arms, cradling her carefully, and took a deep breath.

"I hope this works."

He focused on the stone floor behind his beloved and took the stage.

He felt the chaos tear through him, breaking into unfamiliar fragments. He hadn't felt like this about his magic use since he was child, first learning to throw his signs. The pain of his exhausted chaos trying to keep going felt like it was tearing the veins from his limbs. He had known it would be a huge step. He knew it would be difficult to impossible. But he couldn't allow it to be impossible. He needed to get Yen to someplace safe. He needed to update the Witchers. He needed to see the outcomes of all the odd things that had happened lately. He needed Geralt. Get Yen to Geralt. The shards of his magic sliced through his insides, destroying everything within him which was not physical. He screamed, or thought he did. He doubted one could actually scream while not on the material plane. He wasn't sure he could make it, it had surely been foolish of him to try. But he must continue to try. Geralt. Yen. Safety. His foot made contact with stone, and the jarring pressure hurled him to the ground. Yen. Geralt. He couldn't see, everything was black, but his knees were on solid stone, he could smell Geralt under a cacophony of other scents. Yen. He had to put her down. Careful, careful. It took too much focus to control his arms and not dump his living cargo upon whatever surface they had landed on. The broken chaos pulled his stomach up through his throat. Or maybe that was something else. He felt his mouth open, and his stomach heave, before darkness claimed the rest of his senses.

Geralt had already tucked Ciri into her bed, with minimal fuss from the child. They had trained hard today, though she pushed herself more than her guardians pushed her. Geralt, Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir were gathered in the hall, the mead was flowing, and Lambert was challenging Eskel to a game of gwent. Vesemir and Geralt were smiling at the antics of the other two, Eskel insisting Lambert had a habit of cheating by getting his opponent drunk. They were all relaxed, safe in their winter home when the smell of ozone tinged the air and their medallions all began to react. They stood, preparing themselves for whatever might be coming, and Lambert shot from the room. He was back moments later, tossing each of them a sword, and just as they caught them there was a loud popping sound from behind the white-haired witcher. Geralt recognized that sound when it came with the crisp smell of lightning.

"Jaskier?" He asked as he spun to face the intrusion.

The name fell from his lips before the man appeared. Jaskier stepped into the room as if from nowhere, a limp, raven-haired figure in his arms. A smile appeared on his face for a split second, before he hit his knees, swaying. He somehow managed to place Yennefer gently on the ground between himself and Geralt before leaning to the side and emptying his stomach, then promptly passing out face down in his mess.


	15. Curtain Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after many odd delays and strange occurrences in my own life, this story is complete. I do hope you've enjoyed the journey, comments are love.

It took Jaskier a day and a half to wake up, and the first thing he saw was Lambert's face.

"Hey there, killer."

His lips formed all the shapes of the witcher's name, but his voice didn't catch up until he was halfway through.

"'mbert? Water?"

Lambert helped him to sit and held the mug for him only allowing him to take small sips.

"How you doing?"

"Oh you know, fabulous, for a guy who had his magic flayed open." Lambert chuckled at the memories that evoked.

"Only slightly minced. You'll be fine."

That brought a smile to Jaskier's lips.

"We made Geralt go to bed. Thought we were gonna have to knock him out, first, though. He didn't want to leave your side. When we told him to let us help watch you, he wanted to go take care of Yennefer."

Jaskier smiled. Yeah, that sounded like his White Wolf. Mister I don't care, I have no emotion, I don't get involved. Jaskier knew better. Seemed his family did too.

"Eskel's sitting with the sorceress, she's still out; but everyone's going to want to know how you suddenly showed up in the main hall."

"Can't I just stay here?"

"Sure. They'll come to you. Vesemir's going to want to check on you anyway, before he clears you to leave the bed; and as soon as Geralt hears that you're awake, nobody'd be able to stop him from showing up."

"You want to know, too, don't you. How about I tell you, you can tell everyone else?"

"That won't work the way you think it will. Tell me, satiate my curiosity. I'll gather them to come see you while I sit with the mage." Jaskier eyed Lambert, debating his plan.

"You owe me." Lambert shrugged.

"That's not quite how I remember it," Jaskier chuckled. Lambert just grinned, an expression Jaskier was sure most people would interpret as  _ I'm gonna cause trouble now.  _ He continued his thought. "But it seems like a solid plan."

He explained enough to satisfy Lambert's curiosity without going too into detail, promising to give him a more specific explanation later, if the mischievous witcher wanted it.

Lambert stepped out into the hallway, cocked his head, and said in a loud voice:

"He's up."

Though he didn't yell, Jaskier was certain he heard the witcher's voice bounce through the structure, ricocheting off of beams and angled stone. He tossed a teasing wink back through the door as left. Jaskier closed his eyes, though he was certain he wouldn't have long before being invaded. He was right. With a rap on the door, Vesemir entered the room, followed closely by Geralt, Eskel, and then Ciri.

"Jaskier. I'm Vesemir, that's Eskel, and Cirilla." Jaskier nodded at each in turn, sparing a smile for Cirilla. He hadn't seen eyes that haunted in a face that young since ... well no time to think on that now.

"How are you feeling?"

Well, there were a thousand and one answers to that question, weren't there. He decided to play it as straight as possible though, especially considering the concerned look Geralt was giving him.

"I've definitely been better, but I'm alright."

"Good. You seem well enough, though I'm sure you'll need more rest. And I wouldn't count on whatever signs or magic you have functioning properly for a week or two at least." He chuckled at Jaskier's surprised look. "You think I haven't seen magical burn-out before, boy? It happened to a lot of stripling witchers during training, especially if they saw what Eskel could manage, they’d push themselves too far. You'll be fine once you've had time to recover. Now, you have a story to tell?"

Geralt made a small noise, and Jaskier looked at him. That was definitely a pout.

"I'm okay, Geralt, I promise." He held out his hand, and the witcher took it, collapsing onto the bed beside him, holding him gently and snuffling his hair. Vesemir heaved a put-upon sigh, Eskel smiled a small, soft smile while Ciri mumbled 'Gross.' under her breath. The bard began to pet Geralt as he started his tale. He told them everything, from the first attack upon Geralt, to searching out the source of the contract, rescuing Lambert (from their nods, Lambert had already told them his side of the tale), and taking down Stefan. He didn't tell them about his crazy brother, but he did mention his new reputation as the Dark Dragon, letting the witchers know they had an unnamed protector when it came to the Theatre, they shouldn't need to worry about such things from that venue. He rounded out the tale by telling them of finding Yennefer, her magic showing him a vision of Geralt, and him taking the stage from halfway across the continent. He was awfully proud of that, after all.

"How is Yennefer?" He asked by way of ending his tale. To his surprise, it was Eskel that answered.

"Her arms were burned pretty badly, her magic more exhausted than I've ever seen, and of course she was unconscious when you arrived. She hasn't woken up, but we've treated her physical injuries. It's a waiting game, now."

Jaskier suddenly understood why Geralt was so eager to see, feel and hear him now. His poor White Wolf probably thought he was losing them both. He watched Geralt until Vesemir cleared his throat.

"We'll leave you to rest. There'll be dinner in a few hours."

They left quietly, closing the door behind them. Geralt sniffled and sat up so he could look at the bard properly.

"I - Jaskier, I ..." Jaskier just kept softly stroking Geralt's arm, silently encouraging him to take his time and speak. It finally all came out in a rush.

"I'm so sorry Jaskier, I didn't mean those things I said, you said we had to make it believable, I couldn't think of how else to help, I don't want you to leave, I'm sorry, I miss you ..." His apology was breaking down into incoherent babbles now, time to stop him. Jaskier knew anyway, he thought he had always known. 

"Hush, love, hush." He pressed kisses to the man's hands, still too weak to move much, until his snowy-haired demigod calmed down and he could look into those clear saffron eyes.

"You have emotions, Geralt. They may be muted, I don't know, I'm not inside your head. Maybe they're easier to hide, or you're trained to hide them, but they're there. You were angry on the mountain. Anger, hate, passion, love, they're all related. I love you, Geralt. I'm pretty sure you love me back."

"I do! Gods yes, I do. But I love Yen too. At least I think I do, but I love Ciri and ..." he paused and it was obvious to Jaskier he was trying to get his thoughts ordered enough to speak them. "Maybe I don't know what love means."

"There are different kinds of love, Geralt. Many of them are not sexual. You know that, right? Like the love between a parent and a child, or siblings? Those are not sexual. Friendship is a kind of love that is not generally sexual. Right?"

Geralt nodded.

"I think that kind of familial love is what you feel for Cirilla."

"She's one of the most important things in my life, and I want to protect her. But I want her to learn to protect herself too."

"Hmm. You're a good dad, Geralt. You'll figure the rest out." He reached for the water, and Geralt helped him take a drink.

"Shall I tell you how I understand love? I love you. I love the Countess De Stael. I  _ don't _ love her the same way I love you. The only person I love like Geralt is you. I love Yennefer, too." (He wasn't sure that wasn't a revelation  _ to himself _ , but he'd examine that later.) "But I don't love her like I love Geralt. And I don't love you like I love Yen. My personal experience is that it's different for everyone. Neither more nor less, just different. There is no greater love or lesser love. I don't love one more than another, love doesn't come in degrees, it just shows up and never goes away."

Geralt leaned in, and the kiss was almost painfully gentle, yet somehow demanding.

When Yen woke up days later, the sound of triumph from Lambert alerted Jaskier before the others. He rushed to her room and took her hand, relief painted on his features.

"Yen." His voice was soft and full of hope.

"I didn't tell. Jask ... I didn't say ..." She seemed a bit delirious, but her ramblings put him terribly on edge.

"You've done work for her." Said Lambert, and it was not a question.

"I've done a lot of things for a lot of people, Lambert."

"I imagine."

Yennefer's words stopped, and her eyes opened fully, slowly focusing on the bard, as one hand wavered aimlessly in the air. He took her hand and held it carefully.

"Jaskier?"

"I'm here Yen. We're in Kaer Morhen, and we're alright." She blinked slowly as everyone else filed into the room, reminiscent of his own visit. "It's good to see your eyes, lovely."

"Not loveable, ask your witcher."

Yen didn't have enhanced hearing, so he doubted she heard the small, pained noise that came from Geralt.

"Yes, Geralt and I have claimed each other, but ..." It wasn't like him to run out of words. Amazingly, the white-haired man stepped in.

"His heart is too big to be claimed by just one person, Yennefer. You could be part of it, too, if you want."

“Gross,” muttered Ciri.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all are welcome to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/IamAlathe) if you like.


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